It sounded like whispers, you know?
The life dripping from your eyes.
It corroded like zippers, wet,
from years of spilling rain
onto an inconsistent raincoat.
Sometimes I remember, do you?
The amount of time found,
spent and all but lost.
We were children, then,
with nothing but nap times,
play times, and Lego shrines.
Second hands dressed up
as hours; and minutes, well,
they just didn’t matter.
Splatter paint was a
way of life and life
was just a way to live.
The simple times
always flew faster
than the last.